


No Competition

by blackwatson23



Series: Underneath and other Story Rewrites: Spanking Stories [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And we like whatever we want and that includes kink, BDSM, Black Girls are Amazing, Breast Play, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub Play, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Interracial Joanlock, Interracial Relationship, Joanlock - Freeform, Mentions of Mystrade, Nipple Play, Power Play, Roleplay, Sensation Play, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Sub Joan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6439822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwatson23/pseuds/blackwatson23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let’s get it out now that as soon as the light turned on, I knew I was busted.  </p>
<p>I’m way too wet for this punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally 'Competition' by Tanya Turner in 'Master/Slave' edited by N. T Morely  
> Revamped/written for the BBC Sherlock Interracial Fandom by blackwatson23
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and for Maxi:   
> I don't fuck wit' chu'

_“Where have you been?”_

Even though it’s close to 2am, Sherlock, my boyfriend and sometimes Top, nearly scared the piss out of me as I crept into the flat. He sat in his usual chair; legs crossed, head propped up by one hand, eyes feline and piercing. He had switched on the tall lamp bedside his chair and looked scornfully at me, like a father catching his teenage daughter sneaking out in the middle of the night.

I _had_ hoped to sneak back in, put on my pajamas, and get at least a few hours before he was bouncing around the flat, irritating the hell out of me and nearly everyone we knew. Everything had been planned out: Pre-oil the flat and the downstairs door hinges leading outside so they didn’t squeak when they were opened, stepped and memorized what steps creaked and which ones didn’t so I could avoid them with my bare feet (which turned out to be the second and seventh, respectively) when I walked back up them. But me finding out that he’s _very_ awake and _very_ alert…well, that was something I hadn’t counted on.

“Oh, well…you know, out. Sarah called and invited me out to a pub and we had a few drinks. She got to telling me one of her stories and I…just…lost track of time.”

He simply stared at me. I held tighter to my heels to keep from moving my fingers in nervousness, an observation he probably already knew I wanted to do.

“That’s… _it_?” There’s this edge in his voice as he asks me, calm and questioning as if he doesn’t suspect but knows, always knows, that I’m leaving something out.

Let’s get it out now that as soon as the light turned on, I knew I was busted.

Still, I could wonder how he could know that mixed in with the obviously mixed drinks and girl talk was some minor flirtation? Could he possibly know about the hot, tan, slightly muscular businessman who chatted us up and then took things one step further, giving us sensual backrubs, feeling us up in front of the entire bar, kneading his fingers into the back of my neck, the middle of my back, the patterned muscle of my healed shoulder? Did he know how closely he pressed me against him when he said goodbye, so tightly I could feel his very hard cock pressing against my upper thigh through my skirt?

He couldn’t. And yet, I knew he did.

“Well, yeah, mostly. You know…”

“No, Joan. I don’t.” His opposite hand taps impatiently on one of his armrests, obviously waiting for me to ‘fess up.

My words were rushed and I felt like a kid in big trouble, even though I had just turned 36. “Well, I mean… There was this guy there and he was talking to us nearly all night and he gave us back rubs and just flirted with us a little.” Mentioning Sarah in there seemed like a good idea but instead his face was a blank mask and I wanted to melt through the floor.

“Really? And did you flirt back with him… _a_ _little_?” I opened my mouth to answer but he stood up and I choked on them. “Actually, no. Don’t answer that. Finish taking the rest of your clothes and go stand against the bedroom wall.”

I was exhausted when I hit the door. At his command, I wasn’t anymore. Despite my slightly guilty conscience, or perhaps because of it, I try to resist against the shiver of arousal and excitement running through me at his words. I quickly head into the room, throw the last of my clothes on the floor and stand against the wall, in “my spot” as we’ve dubbed this particular location.

Sherlock leaves me standing in the cold bedroom for a good minute, probably deciding what to do with me. The bed is still messy from where I left him in it earlier, passed out cold from more successful cases that left him going a straight week without sleep. It felt good, being able to get away for a bit, having no responsibilities being the girlfriend/bodyguard/part-time babysitter to the world’s only consulting detective. The atmosphere in the dark bar was foggy but I felt clear, free from the responsibilities of being Joan Watson for a while. Sherlock was safe at home and I was kinda safe in a place with my best friend. And a touchy, feely new one.

When Sherlock finally walked in, he headed straight for me, grabbed me by my good shoulder and all but forcefully turned me around and pushed me against the icy wall. My hands automatically came up to brace against the wall on both sides of my head. I’m wasn’t worried when he started pinching my back, starting at the top of my neck and working his way down my shoulder blades and down. He grabbed small bits of fleshy skin and pinched, over and over again, nearly painful until he stopped all together. Then his cool, soft, long fingers massaged my back, but not in the kind of dreamy, sensual way one gives a massage. His fingers kneaded deep, rough and invasive.

Not romantic at all, but truly possessive.

“I knew you were up to something, Joan, coming home this late after sneaking out. I did fall asleep with you next to me but woke up immediately when you got up. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t, waiting to see what tale you’d tell me as to why you had to sneak away in the first place.” His hands stopped at the sides of the small of my back, gripping me tightly and pulling me flush against his clothed crotch. I wanted to wiggle against the hardness I love so much but I stayed still and still quiet, hoping to mitigate his anger even a little bit. The next words he says are hissed into my ear. “I’m absolutely furious Joan Watson, but I’ll get over it. But before my head hits that pillow again, I’m going to make you remember one thing: I’m the only one that matters and I’m the only one who can really treat you the way you need to be treated.”

He pulls my head back by the roots of my hair, tugging a few times to make sure that I’m listening and that I understand. I feel his teeth nip at the inside of my ear. “Whoever that guy was, probably another idiotic nobody, can’t do for you what’s I’m going to do. He could never even come close.”

He oh so slowly brags his hands up my sides, up to cup my breasts. More shivers pass through me at this sudden caress and the memory of the touch of the nameless Romeo (was it Gregory? Jim?), who may or may not have also cupped my breasts, holding their weight in his hands, not caring about the spectacle we were making. Somehow it seems that Sherlock is mimicking the bar antics, even If I feel strongly that he couldn’t possibly know about that. He squeezes my nipples, hard, pinching them over and over and then switching tactics, twisting them at the same time pulling my upper body against his chest. My curves seem to melt into his solidness, even as he pulls my nipples away from me.

“Did he do this to you? Did he know how much you love to have your nipples played with?” He pinches them again and I can’t hold back my moan. “I bet he has no clue how much pain you can really take, does he, my little solider? I bet he just considered you a too nice girl with brown, soft skin and pretty brown eyes, and he’d be easily able to shag you because he bought you a few cheap, fruity drinks. But you need more than that don’t you?” As he asks, he smashes me back against the wall. I can feel his cock through his tight dress pants as it presses instantly between the crack of my ass. My very hard nipples feel like they are breaking.

When he suddenly moves back, I instantly close my eyes because I know what’s coming. A few choice slaps to my ass, a good fucking and knock the hell out we both are. Sometimes there’s a blindfold needed, sometimes not. I sense him move farther from me and I get nervous again. My eyes open, I can’t ever figure out what he has in store for me, but I know I’ll find out soon enough.

In a flash, he’s back behind me and tells me to stick my ass out. My insides tighten in anticipation. Then I feel the first blow, hitting my ass in the most shockingly exquisite way. It’s a paddle of some sort, not too wide but sturdy. He hits me over and over, venting his anger without words, for once, but with a heat all over me. I push my ass out farther, even though I’m probably not supposed to, he’d tell me if he wanted to move, but I can’t help it. The paddle is too addicting and with each hit I feel my nerves come truly alive.

I’m _way_ too wet for this punishment.

I push my butt out a little farther, wanting it a little harder, but my back is against the wall again before I can even think about saying a word. He’s not pleased with my little bit of left over impudence, I can tell by how hard his slender jawline looks in the light of the night. With hardly a pause, the paddle is attacking my sensitive nipples, using the slender paddle to slap them gently, the hitting the sides of my breasts before traveling back.

This pain is intense, each blow causing me to suck in hissing breaths of my own and grit my teeth, wondering if I can truly stand it, will I have to knock him the hell out to get him to stop, even though I’d be heartbroken if I did. I open my mouth to say so, to somehow to tell him how impossibly wet and aching I am now and that I would like to get some sleep of my own sometime this century, when I look at him.

Sherlock already knows, his eyes piercing into me say. He enjoys making me insane and has got the ways to do so to a natural science. They roam up and down my body, weighing, measuring, assessing, taking notes and filing them away for future reference, I know for future “punishments”. He’s way too cool, his cock now visible to me through his trousers betray his arousal.

He stops then, taking a small step to me and leans forward and hovers in front of my sore breasts. Keeping my eye contact, his tongue licks at his bottom lip in preparation and then connects with a nipple, so wet and tender I nearly collapse.

The nipple is between hard and soft and it’s so confused that it seems to adjust in half and half, wanting to be bot hat the same time. He lures it into his hot pink mouth, submission on the horizon when his teeth come down and bite, hard. I cry out as the pain sinks into my breast tissue, travels adown and hits my cunt before I know it. With it held prisoner, his tongue flicking across it back and forth, faster and faster until I have to clamp my hands onto his shoulders to really stay standing.

I’m not sure if we’re there yet now, if we’re almost at the finale. He finally lets it go and trails kisses down from breasts, placing small kisses down the valley between my breasts, over my pudgy stomach, straight between my legs. I’m absolutely soaked by this point, my desire starting to drip down my thighs in slow, tickling trickles that remind me of the first time we did this. He pauses, lifts a leg over his shoulder and stares, seemingly in wonder, for what feels like forever; so much so I want to squat forward and bring myself right to his face. I want to force him to fill me with his tongue, or even those wonderful fingers, or even his cock, anything to ease the ache that has utterly consumed the lower part of my body.

But alas, I stay still, waiting for him to decide what will happen next.

He places my leg down so that I’m standing with them both shoulder length apart. I have to lean back a little against the wall to give myself a bit of support, even though I’m not spread very wide. He runs his knuckles over my pussy, right over my clit as teasingly as possible, testing even though it’s totally clear that I’m more than ready.

When Sherlock slaps me, his hand hitting my cunt from underneath, I’m not sure what to do, but then they continue into constant, rapid, hard smacks that land on my pussy lips and make me scream. He doesn’t let up though. Even if Mrs. Hudson can hear downstairs, he gives no fucks, hitting me there harder and harder and harder.

If only he’d shove a few fingers in or something! But he’s not ready, him not believing I’m not ready for that yet. He keeps the pace for a bit longer, making me bang my head against the wall in frustration of his selfishness. It’s too much and not enough, all at once. I don’t see him reach for the paddle again, I’m looking up at the ceiling dizzy from nearly giving myself a concussion, but feel it when the slaps stop and it taps against my clit- _tap, tap, tap._

My clit responds in kind, getting harder, bigger, eager for more. He keeps going, faster and faster, occasionally slapping the leather flat against my wet inner thighs and pussy lips, obviously just because.

I’m watching as he does this but I can’t take it anymore and close my eyes. I’m pretty sure I’m dying at this point, even though he’s still going, spanking my clit, pussy and thighs until everything is indistinguishable from any other sensation I’m feeling, a raging fire building and building until…until…

He stops. He just _fucking stops._

_Now’s the time,_ I think, scratching my nails into the wall behind me. _This is what the moment I’ve been waiting for._

But nothing happens. Instead he looks me in the eye again for a moment, a smug smirk playing at his lips until a split second passes and it’s a blank mask. He turns, walks to the bed, strips off his shoes and climbs in and scoots over to his side.

I’m absolutely dumbfounded…and horny as hell. _Don’t tell me…_

“I just wanted to show you,” He sighs, looking completely done with me. “And that no one, that there is no competition between us. Anything he can even imaging thinking he can do, I can do much, much better. I hope you don’t forget that next time.” He pulls the duvet and covers back, head nodding towards my empty side. “I know he didn’t fuck you, I would have known that when I looked at you when you came in. Pity for you, if he had, I would have too, hard and deep and rough just like you like it, probably out in that same pub. But since he didn’t, I’m not going to either, though I believe I have proven myself enough this morning. Now close the curtains and get in bed, Joan. Don’t you know what time it is?”

His speech ended with my name in a scoff. Body trembling, I close the curtains and slide in, hoping the cool sheets and eight hours of good sleep can dull the sharp, stinging ach between my legs and my ass.

Maybe, I last think as my eyes close. Maybe he’ll want to fuck me in the morning.

I certainly hope so.


	2. Sherlock: Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that Day

“I enjoyed that.” Joan says, cuddling against Sherlock chest later that day. Bright summer sunshine is threatening to break from behind his closed curtains and he makes up his mind to stay in bed all day today, and probably tomorrow too, phone turned off.

“Did you now?” He asks, rubbing her back, still damp from their sunrise romp.

“I did. The paddle was a very nice touch. But did you have to have Lestrade feel me up like that? I mean, you should have seen how Sarah looked at me! And everyone else in the pub too.”

“That’s why I had you go to a pub across town. I knew there would be no chance of you being noticed by someone familiar to cause you true embarrassment. I knew James would enjoy it too.”

“It’s _Greg_ ,” Joan corrects, poking him hard in the ribs. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Mycroft is totally furious.”

Sherlock has to roll his eyes. “I told him I’d do one Queen and Country assignment in exchange for his husband’s plentiful time.” He smiled conspiratorially. “Though I might not have told him exactly what I was going to have him do to you.”

Joan laughed, a lovely sound.

“The name was a nice touch too. You should have seen how full of himself he was. Graham Lewis, Detective Inspector ad secret seducer extraordinaire.” She looks up at him, hair sex mussed and eyes devious. “But next time, it’s my turn. I’ve found a couple of interesting items online that are on the way.”

Sherlock can’t help but raise an eyebrow, clearly interested.

“Oh?”

Joan just smiles. She leans up and kisses his mouth and rests her head back on the pillow beside him.

There was certainly no competition indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this one. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm looking to post on my main story pretty soon! Check out The Meeting for some normal Interracial Joanlock romance. <3


End file.
